


The Next Season

by Beserk



Series: The Anthony and Simon Saga [2]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Bridgerton Family Feels, Established Relationship, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beserk/pseuds/Beserk
Summary: A few weeks before their scheduled returned to London, Anthony and Simon get a bit of a surprise....
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Friedrich Wilhelm Ludwig von Preußen (1794-1863) | Prince Frederick of Prussia, Simon Basset & Bridgerton Family, Simon Basset/Anthony Bridgerton, Simon Basset/Anthony Bridgerton/Siena Rosso, past - Relationship
Series: The Anthony and Simon Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117460
Comments: 28
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

Eloise smiled when Aubrey Hall finally came into view. The spring and autumn in Prussia had been truly wonderful, full of opportunities to learn and explore along with Pen, but Eloise was glad to be home. She had missed her brothers and sisters dreadfully, as well as her friends among the tenants’ daughters. 

She would not have much time with said friends, as they would barely have time at Aubrey Hall a month before they needed to make their way back to London for the next Season, which would include Daphne's marriage. 

She was not pleased to be forced to separate from her sister so very soon. Eloise knew she will see Daphne often, but she would no longer be in the same household as her. They would not see each other every day. Daphne will be busy organizing the household of a prince, with no time left over to banty words with a younger sister. 

At least she knew that Anthony would never leave the household. 

"Home," Daphne sighed, leaning her head against Mama's shoulder. She had left her prince in London to bear the brunt of Queen Charlotte's wedding arrangement schemes, and was feeling rather maudlin over it. 

"Home," Mama agreed. They stepped out of the carriage, one after the other, to find the rest of their family standing in wait to greet them. 

"Mama!" Hyacinth cried out loud and rushed over. Mama laughed gaily, hugging her children one after the other. 

"Hello, sister." 

Eloise grinned as Anthony pulled her into a one-armed hug. 

"Hello, dear brother," She threw her arm around Anthony's shoulder. "Where is your Simon?" 

"I do not think Simon belongs to me," Anthony said with a raised eyebrow. Eloise did not credit that statement as true. "But he is currently dealing with a dispute between two of our tenants. One of them used to live in Clyvden, and is finding it hard to adjust to Aubrey Hall." 

"It sounds like you were having a hard time of it," Eloise frowned as the two of them walked into the mansion. It had been a rather momentous endeavour that Anthony and Simon had chosen to undertake. Simon had sold all of his father's lands and holding, and used the kingly-sized bounty of funds to purchase all the lands around Bridgerton, before formally handing them over to Anthony. The Prince Regent had agreed to the transfer, knowing the Bridgertons were a responsible line that would keep the land well-kept, and since Anthony now controlled such a large swash of land, Eloise had not been at all surprised to learn from a letter that the Prince Regent had elevated Anthony to Dukedom. So now Anthony was Duke Anthony Bridgerton of Bridgerton, and Eloise was the sister of a duke and a soon-to-be-princess. 

Mama had been so very pleased, saying it would elevate Eloise’s marriage prospects far above what she might have expected before. Eloise had heard whispered talk that they might try for one of the royal bastards. The thought made her shudder. 

All of this also meant that Simon had returned to being Mr. Simon Basset. Not a duke, not a member of the nobility but of the gentry. He would no longer have a seat in the House of Lords, nor be expected at certain courtly functions. If Eloise understood the tone form his letters correctly, he was thrilled by those developments. 

Simon had not wanted to leave his tenants to the new owners pf the lands, and so Anthony and he had offered a place in the new Bridgerton holds for all of them. Around half of them had chosen to remain, which still left nearly a hundred people to be relocated, given new lands and positions and integrated into the Bridgerton community. 

"Hmm, yes." Anthony said. "But I do believe we have everything well in hand." 

"I do not doubt it." 

* 

"Simon!" 

Simon looked up as he walked back to Aubrey Hall, just in time to see Daphne rushing towards him, and grinned, opened his arms to hug her. 

"Oh, my friend, I've missed you," Simon twirled Daphne around before placing her back on the ground and pulling her slightly away to look her over. "You look beautiful. How was Prussia?" 

"Thank you," Daphne beamed, hugging Simon's arm. "Prussia was magnificent. Though I am not sad to see dear old England again. How is Anthony? And Francesca? And Gregory and Hyaci-" 

"All four of them are well," They made it back to Aubrey Hall and followed the laughter and joyous sounds to the parlour, finding all the Bridgertons waiting for them. 

"Simon!" Two voice cried out, and Simon found himself attacked by Eloise and Violet. He allowed himself to be cuddled and hugged (and smacked on the shoulder by Eloise, God bless her) before he was finally allowed to sit on the sofa and was forced to relive, in great detail, every event of the summer. 

Despite the fact that he had written to Daphne at least once a week and Eloise at least once every two, and knew Anthony wrote even oftener. 

But there was a sense of exuberance in the air, an excitement that could not be contained. There was the excitement of having the rest of the family back in Aubrey Hall, but Hyacinth and Gregory had been excited all week, in anticipation for the return to London. Violet and her two elder daughters were meant to return a few weeks earlier, but their ship from mainland Europe had been delayed, and so they would only have around a month at Aubrey Hall before they would be making their way back to London. 

Simon had considered staying behind at Aubrey Hall for the Season. Now that he was no longer a Duke, he (thank heavens) didn't need to sit in the House of Lords, and he was not sure he wanted to stay the whole six months of the Season in London. They were many things he missed about London, but he had found life in Aubrey Hall surprisingly pleasant. He was very good at organizing the tenants into completing projects that they had been hesitant about before. 

The tenants adored the Bridgertons, but were not comfortable with attempting anything new. Anthony's business tactics were very simple, and safe, and so that was what the tenants had become accustomed to. When Simon had suggested they attempt to plant a type of wheat brought from Australia that had yet to enter the English market, the tenants had been hesitant. As had Anthony. 

Simon had managed to convince him, and then the tenants, and the scheme was working beautifully. 

He was good at convincing people to do what he wanted. Had always been good at that. Anthony would not have been able to convince the tenants to take up the scheme, he had said so himself. 

"It's because you are a bloody charmer," Anthony had said to him with a grin one night, while Simon pulled him into his lap. 

He had learned a rather important thing through that whole endeavour: he enjoyed being a country gentleman, dealing with the many affairs of his lover’s ducal lands. He enjoyed it, and was proficient in it. He’d leave the politics to the member of their partnership that enjoyed it and knew how it was done. 

“You will be coming to London with us, will you not?” Daphne asked him, making her way to his side of the parlour once her younger sisters and brother released her. 

"Naturally," Simon replied. "If nothing else, I cannot miss your wedding. Have we a date yet?" 

"January 12," Daphne said promptly. "We will be in London for two months before the day. Enough time to prepare." 

"And afterwards, a magnificent honeymoon all over the world?" 

Daphne shrugged, "I am unsure. I've spent so much time away from England. I think I would be pleased simply to be with Fred in our new home for some time." 

"And have you given thought to where-" 

"Mr. Basset, your Grace?" 

Simon looked up as McKarmin, Aubrey Hall's butler, made a graceful entrance into the parlour. "There is a... young lady who has requested an audience." 

Anthony and Simon exchanged a look, and Anthony shrugged. He did not know who it could be either. 

"Take her to the Duke's office, we'll meet her there," Simon instructed, still overjoyed by being able to call Anthony that. Just the thought of how his father would react if he found out that Simon had _given up the duchy_ was enough to keep him smiling for days at a time. 

And not just given it up-given it up to his _male lover_. 

"Who do you think it is?" Violet asked, looking puzzled. 

"I do not know," Anthony said, getting up and stretching. He looked far to tired for Simon's liking, but he supposed now that Violet was back things would get calmer (Hyacinth had woken them up quite a few times the last few nights, nightmares of her mother and sisters drowning keeping her from sleep, and Anthony, the magnificent brother that he was, had left the bed each and every time to assist her in returning to rest). "It shan't take long, I presume. We'll have a round of cricket when we get back? Hyacinth has been buzzing with excitement to show you her new talents." 

"Yes, Mama! Anthony would not let me use his lucky mallet, so I was forced to find one for myself-" 

Simon followed Anthony out of the parlour to his office, asking as they went, "If it's one of my..." 

"Mistresses?" Anthony drawled. 

“I do not know if I would call them that.” 

“It is the polite way of addressing them.” 

"Yes, well, if it's one of them-" 

"We will not pay her should she attempt blackmail. You have nothing to hide in having affairs with women. In fact, it is important you continue to have them, to alleviate suspicion." 

Simon wondered what Anthony planned to do if it was one of the ladies that they had _shared_. These ladies would certainly have something to blackmail them over. He was about to suggest some things they might attempt when one of the footmen opened the office door and it became very clear that the lady who had come to see them was very much one of _those_ ladies. 

"Si...ena," Simon said slowly, taking the opera singer in. She was seated in front of Anthony's enormous desk, long black hair tied up in the fashion appropriate for a lady of the ton, and the same could be said of her dress, that could have easily been taken from Daphne's closet. Simon was not used to seeing her in those fashions. It did not quite suit her. 

But that really was not what drew Simon's eyes. 

It was her round, large stomach that protruded ahead of her, like a bloody mountain deposited on a woman's body. 

"Good Lord," Anthony said, numbly. 

"Your Grace," Siena stood up shakingly, and attempted to bend into a curtsey. "Mr. Basset." 

"Sit down, Siena," Anthony rushed forward, helping Siena back to her seat. He sat down next to her and said gently, "How-why-" 

"I am with child, Anthony," Siena said dryly. 

"We can see that," Simon said, suspicious. He placed his hands on the back of Anthony's chair and looked down at Siena. "Why are you here, Siena?" 

Siena hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Because this child was sired by one of you." 


	2. Chapter 2

Violet nearly collapsed onto the floor when Anthony calmly informed her that a woman was in her home, claiming to be round with his child. Or his lover's. It did not matter much which of them the child belonged to. 

_What noble does not have a bastard in the country?_ Violet's maid had asked her once, when they were discussing one bastard or another. The ton would not care, it would do nothing for the family's reputation. But Violet had hoped she had taught her children better then bring such a child into the world. The path of a naturally born child was hard, with no clear position in the world of nobility or the court. She would not love such a grandchild any less, of course, but... 

"I would say the chances are she is lying," Simon said, and Violet nearly sobbed in relief. The lady is lying, of course! It is similar to what Marina Thompson had attempted to do to her darling Colin. Violet found that she could hardly blame Miss Rosso, though. A mother does what she must to protect her child. And why would she not choose Anthony and Simon as perspective fathers? They would be truly wonderful as such. 

Once more, Violet felt the pain of knowing that Simon and Anthony shall never have children of their own. It was cruel, the world they lived in, that Anthony and Simon could not declare their commitment to the world. She remembered her wedding to Edmund-of course that had not been what truly tied them together, that had been their love and the many years and child they shared. Still, the ceremony had meaning. If nothing else, it was a declaration to God. 

"She is not lying," Anthony said, sounding confident, and Violet breathed out sharply. "She is a wise girl, she knows the dangers of disease that come from..." He cleared his throat, clearly remembering his mother was in the room. "Dipping your fingers into various ponds." 

That hope shut down, Simon collapsed onto the sofa. Violet was pleased to see him wrap an arm around Anthony's shoulder in a comfortably familiar fashion. Clearly, the months they had spent with her younger children had cured them both of fear in public shows of affection within the safe confines of their home. 

"So, if she's not lying, and the child is truly mine or yours-" 

"How could it be mine?" Anthony demanded, interrupting Simon. 

Simon frowned, as though not understanding, and then said, "When we were with her toghe-" 

Anthony clapped his hand over Simon's mouth, glaring at him. Violet felt her cheeks burning. 

Simon gave her an apologizing smile and then said, "Remember we both..." 

His next words were whispered into Anthony's ears, and Violet made no attempt to expand her hearing to find out what was being discussed. 

Anthony blushed deeply and mumbled, "Does that-can that-" 

"I think so." 

"Right," Anthony cleared his throat. "So, um, yes. It is also possible that the child is mine." 

Violet looked up at the ceiling, hoping for some assistance from God or perhaps Edmund. 

"Did the lady explain what it was she wished from you?" Violet asked. 

"No," Simon shook his head. "We...left the room before we could get that far." 

"Fled, more like," Anthony added darkly. 

Violet cleared her throat and stood up, "Well. I do believe this calls for a woman's touch. I shall go speak to Miss Rosso. You...remind here." 

Neither of the boys attempted to find her on that. 

* 

Violet had McKarmlin bring Miss Rosso to her private sitting room, and stood from besides the fire when the young woman walked in. Miss Rosso hesitated by the door, and then attempted a courtesy, which made Violet rush forward immediately and take hold of her hands. 

“Please, do not attempt to exert yourself. Will you sit, so we may speak?” 

Miss Rosso gave her a searching look and then nodded, “As you wish, my Lady.” 

Violet considered telling her to call her Violet-she was carrying her potential grandchild, but elected not to. If Miss Rosso was there to attempt blackmail, it would not do to be too informal, or give the impression Violet would be easily manipulated. 

The sat down together by the crackling fire, with Violet watching the way Miss Rosso placed her hands on the sides of the chair, dignified but clearly nervous. 

“So,” Violet said quietly, pouring from the tea the footman had brought. “You believe you are carrying my grandchild.” 

Miss Rosso nodded, “The child is the Duke of Bridgerton’s, or Mr. Basset’s.” 

“And you are sure?” Violet gave the young woman a hard look as she passed her the tea cup. “Because if you are lying, and attempting to defraud my son into caring for a child not his-” 

“I am not,” Siena said sharply. “And I want nothing from Anthony or Simon in terms of funds. Nor room and board.” 

Ah. That was quick. 

“And so what _is_ it that you wish from Simon and Anthony?” 

The two women looked at each other, and Siena said calmly, “I do not want this child.” 

Violet nearly flinched. 

“I have a career, a _thriving_ career. The Season will begin again soon, and I will not be able to tout a child around with me. And I do not want to. I have never wanted a husband nor child, and I,” She swallowed. “Did not want to rid myself of this one in the...normal way. So what I wish is for this child to be raised in a loving home. A home I cannot and do not desire to provide.” 

She appeared sincere, and since she did not wish for money, Violet could see no reason for her to lie. 

“Do you think me...an unnatural woman?” Siena asked, searching Violet’s face. She did not seem in need of comforting for her decision, instead as though she desired to discover if Violet would attempt to ruin her for it. 

Violet shook her head vehemently. With her son being as he was, a man considered unnatural by many, she could not consider the same of others for wanting a life different from what society deemed acceptable. 

“Have you attempted to hide your...” Violet waved at Siena’s stomach. 

"I have hidden my situation. Only my closest friend knows-but her discretion can be relayed upon. I have not left my apartment the past four months, to hide it. But the Season is beginning soon and I will no longer be able to hide away." 

Violet nodded. That was good. The less people knew who the mother was, the better for Simon and Anthony’s reputation. And Miss Rosso’s as well. "How far along are you?" 

"The doctor says it should be a matter of weeks, if that," Siena took a deep breath. "I should have come to Aubrey Hall earlier." 

Indeed she should have, but Violet was glad she did not, since she would not have been present to receive her. "Why did you not?" 

Miss Rosso sighed deeply, "I did not know what the reaction would be like. Anthony is an honourable man, I know this. And a good and kind one as well. But Mr. Basset-I have only met him a few times. I do not know him." 

"He is an honourable man as well," Violet promised. "And would be a good and attentive father." 

"The chances, I think, are larger that the child is his,” Siena said softly. “Our encounters were...more numerous. But we shall see, I suppose, when it is born." 

"Yes," Violet nodded. "We will wait for that." 

* 

“Who has come?” Hyacinth asked. 

Simon, who had been fiddling with the folds of a woollen blanket, shrugged and said, “An opera singer.” 

“Why is she here?” 

“To speak to your brother and I.” 

Hyacinth jumped lightly on the balls of her feet and said, “Simon, does she want to sing for us? I shall like to hear it, as I am not yet allowed to the opera.” 

Simon sighed and pulled the blanket over Hyacinth, cocooning her small (though larger than Gregory’s, and she never allowed them to forget it) body, “She is not here to sing for us. She is here to...inform Anthony and I of something.” 

The little girl frowned, “Is it a bad thing she has come to tell you?” 

Hugging Hyacinth close, Simon shrugged helplessly, “That, I do not yet know.” 

Hyacinth accepted that answer, not requesting any more information. She picked up one of the books thrown haphazardly on the small table in front of them and crawled into a comfortable position on his lap to read. 

She fell asleep around an hour later, and Simon held her, looking down at her sweet, innocent smile. Children had always enjoyed his presence, and he had always enjoyed theirs. But that did not mean that he wanted his own. 

Yet holding Hyacinth, he thought it was rather different, holding a child who was something close to his family. Different from playing with the children of his tenants or the like. The trust she held in him was greater than the trust those children he had played with placed in him. 

And he could break that trust. He could pick her up and wring her little neck, kill her. It was a horrific thought, one that brought bile to his throat-yet it was true. And should he have a child of his own, would that trust not be greater? Like the trust he had once felt for his father? 

Simon knew how very painful it was when that trust was broken. He could break it, destroy Hyacinth-destroy any child of his. What was to stop him? His desire to abstain from harming? Was that enough, truly? 

Oh, but Anthony...Anthony would make a magnificent father. Anthony _desired_ to be a father, has always desired it, from the moment he had grown out of childhood himself. Simon could not prevent Anthony from it, the one chance he might ever have at parenthood. 

(And there was a part of him, a small, frightened part, that wanted it as well.) 

* 

"Simon," Anthony said quietly as he walked into the library. 

Simon made a vague noise in his throat, not looking at him. He was staring at the ceiling, hand curled protectively on Hyacinth's head, which was resting on his shoulder. Anthony's youngest sister was asleep, snoring softly, the wool blanket gifted to them by one of the farmer families to celebrate their return to Aubrey Hall wrapped around her, an open book dropped on the floor. They must have been reading together, a shared activity that they had taken up the past few months. 

"Simon," Anthony said again, a bit louder. 

The man finally looked down from the ceiling and placed a hand on his lips. Anthony rolled his eyes and came to stand in front of Simon. 

"We must talk." 

"I know," Simon sighed. He shifted, placing Hyacinth on the large armchair next to him and then took Anthony's hand with both of his own. Anthony looked down at thier clasped hand, revelling in the warm sensation of being held. "Tony..." 

"You do not want a child, an heir, I know," Anthony swallowed. He felt himself shaking, unsure of why. "But I-" 

"Come here," Simon said gently, drawing Anthony closer. Anthony closed his eyes, allowing himself to be drawn into Simon's lap. Simon placed his chin on Anthony's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. "I know you have always wanted a family. Children. This is your chance to have that." 

Anthony shook his head, "But you...you do _not_." 

Simon hesitated, and then said carefully, "And what, pray tell, causes you to think so?" 

What an odd statement. Anthony frowned at him and said, feeling rather like he was explaining something quite obvious to a child, "You do not want an heir. You fear it." 

Simon snorted, "If this child is mine, it would not be an heir. It will be a natural born child. That aside, I have nothing left _to_ inherit, have I? I managed quite efficiently to destroy my father’s legacy during my lifetime. It is magnificent." 

Anthony gaped at Simon, unable to think clearly. So-so-so Simon might not be entirely opposed to them taking in this child? 

He could barely fathom it. 

"Tony, love, are you quite well?" Simon asked as Anthony wobbled on his lap. 

"You-" Anthony shook his head and suddenly laughed, feeling his heart grow light. "All I have ever wanted was for us to have a family together. But are you quite sure? A child is a tether for life. You cannot choose this and then change your mind." 

"I know, Tony," Simon said quietly, motioning to Hyacinth sleeping soundly on her chair. "We've been practically raising three of them for the past six months." 

Anthony tilted his head, thought for a moment, and then said, "I don’t think Francesca would take kindly to the insinuation that she is a child, not now that she is _sixteen_.” 

“Two children, then. We've been raising two children for six months.” 

“Well. I suppose we have, haven't we?" 

Simon raised his eyebrow and pulled Anthony closer, "Tony?" 

"Yes?" 

"I want this. I want this with you," Simon said, voice firm, and Anthony nearly melted. "I want a family that is just our own. Do you want this with me?" 

Anthony closed his eyes, "Yes. I want this with you." 

* 

"So!" Eloise said, stomping towards where Simon was standing by the stable, attempting to mediate between the two stablemasters, who were arguing over which of them was to be held responsible for the early death of Hyacinth's pony Alexander (named for Alexander the Great, naturally). "I have heard you shall be a father." 

Simon rolled his eyes and waved his hand to the stablemasters, "Would you excuse me for a moment, gentlemen? It seems the young lady requires my presence." 

There was a bit of grumbling and angry glares, but eventually the two men left him alone with Eloise. He thought he could trust them not to attempt murder in his absence. 

"What can I do for you this fine morning, my dear El?" Simon asked, bowing deeply. 

Eloise looked around shiftily, then grabbed Simon's arm and pulled him after her into the family's stables, coming to a stop next to the pen belonging to Eloise's own horse. 

"You told me," Eloise said, sounding rather desperate. "You _t_ _old_ me that men cannot become with child!" 

"They cannot," Simon agreed. "It is Siena who is with child." 

Eloise frowned, seemingly thinking his statement through, and asked, "And you are both the father? _Can_ a child have two fathers?" 

Simon sighed, "No, Eloise. The child was sired by one of us, but we do not know which." 

The young woman squinted at him, then shook her head and said, "I desire to know." 

"Know...?" 

"How one becomes with child! I desire to know. No one will tell me-Daphne does not know either, Mama says it is not appropriate for me to know, and Colin is in Europe-" 

Yes, Colin would have educated her on the matter, Simon thought, if only for the amusement factor. 

"-Anthony shall never tell me, and Benedict is in London. So there is none, save you, who might enlighten me." 

Simon knew this game. He had made the mistake with Daphne, of assuming the ton ladies were not _quite_ as sheltered as they projected. Daphne had kept the secrets he had whispered to her quiet, and he did not know if she...used said knowledge for her own pleasure. He had no desire to find out. He could not give Eloise a hint to lead her in the correct direction-it would be as effective as throwing a blind man into a maze, informing him that the first correct turn was right, and then abandoning him to his own devices as he attempted to escape. No. He was either going to share nothing with Eloise-or everything. 

"It is not appropriate, for me to speak of such matters to a young lady," Simon said gently. 

Eloise made a dismissive noise in her throat and said, "You are as good as a brother. It is part of your brotherly duties to educate your younger siblings." 

Simon rolled his eyes. 

"Please," Eloise opened her eyes wide in an approximation of a little girl pleading. It looked rather ridiculous, but amusing none of the less. 

"You will not-" 

"I shall tell neither Mama, nor Anthony nor Benedict nor Colin," Eloise raised her hand in a solemn swear. 

Simon raised an eyebrow, "And Daph? And your friend Penelope?" 

Eloise hesitated, then said, "I shall inform them how it is done, not where I received this knowledge from." 

"Right," Simon sighed, giving in. He opened the door to the stall where Anthony's favourite haunting horse was eating peacefully. His long neck jerked upwards and he nosed against Simon. Simon petted him gently and motioned Eloise closer. "Look." 

"At Muffin?" Eloise asked, puzzled (The horse had been given his name by Gregory, nearly six years previously. Anthony would have changed it if he was permitted, but Gregory would have been rather hurt had he tried). 

"At Muffin, yes," Simon sighed and pointed between Muffin's legs (he was losing any sense of decorum. That was Eloise's influence on him, he supposed). "You see this?" 

"Yes..." Eloise nodded. She looked up at Simon. "I know what that is, I saw Gregory's once when he was rather small and had run out of the nursey before he could be dressed by the nanny." 

"Right, good, so. Well. So you see, every man has one of those-well, unless he'd lost it for some reason or another," Simon waved a hand dismissively. 

"What does it have to do with creating a child?" Eloise asked, caressing Muffin's neck. 

Simon sighed deeply, preparing himself, "You know, Eloise, um...the place between your legs." 

Eloise tilted her head at him, "Yes?" 

"It goes into that." 

"'What'?" Eloise's eyes were wide and round. "Does it? And that is how...it happens?" 

"A...sort of liquid comes out," Simon said. "That enters the womb and somehow becomes a child. And only women have a womb. So, you see, a man and a woman are needed." 

Eloise swallowed, "It sounds painful." 

Simon winced, "It does not have to be. I have it under good authority that there is much pleasure to be gained in those activities. It is only painful if you are rough with each other." 

"How can pleasure be gained through it?" 

Simon tsked as Muffin bumped his head against Simon's chest, "Calm, Muffin. And as for you, Eloise, I shall tell you what I told your sister..." 

* 

"My Lady!" 

Violet gasped as she was pulled out of the rather pleasant dream she had been having by her lady's maid shaking her shoulder rather roughly. 

"W-what is it, Gertie?" Violet asked, sitting up. 

"Miss Rosso-she has begun." 

"What?!" Violet jumped up, accepting the robe Gertie was offering her. "She has only been here a few hours; she said her doctor said it would be a few weeks still!" 

"I suppose it must have been the excitement of the trip, M'Lady." 

"Good Lord," Violet shook her head, shaking slightly. Her grandchild was coming, and she had barely the time to process its upcoming arrival (whether or not the child was Simon's or Anthony's-they would be Bridgertons in heart- and Violet's first-born grandchild to). "Have Anthony and Simon been informed?" 

Gertie hurried after Violet, "Yes, M'Lady. His Grace sent for the doctor. Miss Daphne is with Miss Rosso." 

Anthony and Simon were standing outside the door of the guest bedroom that had been allocated to Siena. They were talking quietly to each other, Anthony leaning towards Simon and nodding softly. Gracing them with a single look, Violet rushed into the bedroom. 

Daphne was sitting by the bed, holding Siena's hand and running a damp towel over her forehead. Siena was breathing sharply, groaning harshly. 

Violet took a deep breath. It was time to get started. 

* 

Simon was scared. It was a surprising reaction. His father had felt fear when his mother was birthing him, he knew from the stories Lady Danbury told him. But that had been because he had feared not having an heir. To lose the chance at a safe future. He would have mourned the same had the child died-or been born a girl. 

That was not what Simon was afraid of. 

He was afraid the child might die. He was afraid the child might suffer. He was terrified for his child, not for his own plans for it. 

He wanted this, though, he realized with some shock. He wanted a child with Anthony, a child for them to love and raise and lead into adulthood. Anthony would be a magnificent father, and Simon wanted to be there to see it. He wanted a chance to do everything his father had done wrong right. Wanted to hold a child the way he held Hyacinth and Gregory and tell them they were good, and loved, no matter what. 

But birth was a perilous adventure (Simon knew this better than most) and they might lose their chance as soon as they got it. 

Another horrifying scream issued from the bedroom, and the door opened, a maid rushing out with a handful of sheets that seemed drenched with sweat. She looked frantic, frightened, and Simon attempted to see what was happening inside the room, but the door slammed shut before he could. 

It had been going on for nearly eight hours now, the screaming growing louder and louder, and the maids seeming to grow more and more frantic as they came in and out of the room with new sheets and buckets of clean water. Simon truly had no way of knowing if this was good or bad. 

"How is it not over yet?" Anthony mumbled, face buried in his hands. He was sitting on the floor, curled up into himself. 

Simon shrugged helplessly, "How long did it take for your mother to birth the younger Bridgertons?" 

"I th-" 

This time, the scream was so loud that Simon could not hear what Anthony said. He jumped backwards, unable to stop himself. It did not sound like a woman had made the sound-it sounded like a _banshee_. 

"That cannot be Siena," Simon said, before yet another scream _pounded_ into his ears. He made his way to Anthony and settled down next to him, hugging him close and attempting not to feel like a cowed child. 

The heart-breaking screaming continued. And continued. And then suddenly-stopped. 

Anthony and Simon sent an alarmed look at each other 

And then, a new sound could be heard. A cry. Two voice crying. 

"That-those are babies," Anthony whispered. 

"T-two?" Simon stumbled over the word. 

Oh. 

He felt he was ready to swoon. 

* 

Simon stumbled into the room, dazed and shocked. They had been kept out of the room by the doctor, after being informed that the birth had gone well and Siena was resting. The doctor did not tell them what the infants’ sexes were, and if there were truly two of them (there were, Simon could hear them, though he could not fathom it), but nearly fifteen minutes after the birth Violet came out, smiled shakingly at them, and said, "Come in and meet your children, my dears." 

So here they were. walking into the room. Anthony went first, naturally, with Simon trailing him as though he were a loyal puppy (which he supposed he rather was). On the bed, Siena lay, covered in sweat and snow-white. She tried to smile at Simon and Anthony, but she did not seem to have the strength for it. The children were not in her hands. 

“Are you all right?” Anthony asked Siena gently, and she nodded and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep. 

"Here," Violet said softly, taking Anthony's arm and motioning them to the side of the bed. There sat Daphne, a wrapped bundle in her arms, Next to her stood a kitchen maid who had rather recently had a child herself, another bundle latched to her covered breast. 

"I-" Anthony swallowed. 

"Here," Daphne said, voice shaking, and stood up. She walked over to them, and gently deposited the bundle in Anthony's arms. Simon peered over Anthony's shoulder, almost afraid to get close. 

As soon as he saw the babe, he knew that Anthony had been the father. And thank the Lord for that. He could _see_ Anthony in the child's nose, his hair, his beautiful cream-coloured skin. He was a tiny version of Anthony, and Simon already adored him. 

Or her. He did not actually know. 

"It's yours," Simon whispered, wrapping his arms around Anthony from behind. 

"He," Daphne corrected. "He's Anthony's." 

But Anthony shook his head, "He's _ours_." 

Daphne smiled, wiping tears out of her eyes, "Would you like to meet your daughter, now?" 

Simon swallowed, heart fluttering, "Yes." 

Daphne returned to the kitchen maid, and received the second babe into her arms. Simon stepped away from Anthony, accepting the child, shivering from the wonderful warm weight in his arms. 

He stared down at her. At Anthony and his daughter. 

"How..." Anthony blinked. "She is Simon's. Her skin." 

Her skin was a beautiful deep brown, her eyes, once they squinted open, the chocolate brown of Simon's own. 

Yes. She was a child of Simon's flesh indeed. 

"I am not sure how that is possible," Violet said, sounding helpless. "I do not think I have ever seen such a thing." 

"Well, it does not matter how it happened," Daphne declared. "They are healthy and beautiful and my niece and nephew. There is nothing else to be said of it.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Hyacinth and Gregory bounced on the balls of their feet, both filled with electric energy that hardly allowed them to remain as still as they had been bid. 

"The babes have fallen into sleep," Mama said as she placed a hand on Hyacinth's shoulder and another on Gregory's cheek. "So you must remain quiet so as not to wake them." 

Hyacinth nodded fiercely, and placed a finger on her lips. 

"Do I have your word that you will keep your silence?" Violet asked sternly. 

Gregory nodded eagerly, "Yes. We're nearly thirteen and eleven, we know how to be silent." 

Violet smiled, amused. It seemed that no longer being the youngest members of the family had already raised their self-esteem. She remembered this effect, it had happened to Colin and Daphne as well, when Eloise and then Francesca came, and to Benedict when Colin was born (it had not happened to Anthony. That one had been born knowing he was a firstborn, Violet sometimes thought). 

"I know you can, my big boy, my lovely girl," Violet said, rubbing Gregory's head affectionately. Her babies were no longer the family babies. It made her keenly aware of the passage of time, of how they were aging before her eyes. Before long, they would be ready to leave her just as Daphne was. 

Violet rubbed her eyes. She was just a little sad, she supposed, watching her children age and mature. She did not want to have an empty nest quite yet. 

"All right," She motioned the children with her to Anthony and Simon's room. "We'll go in now." 

Daphne had left the room a few minutes ago, needing to rest after assisting with the birth for so many hours. But Violet's two other daughters were still with Simon and Anthony. Simon had fallen asleep, stretched out on a sofa, and looked pale to Violet's nervous eyes. Fatherhood was tiring, even when one had only been initiated into it two hours previously. 

Eloise and Francesca were by the cradle, cooing down at the sleeping infants within. Anthony was, for some reason, on the floor, spread out as though he were making a snow angel on the carpet. 

"Let me see," Hyacinth whispered, shoving Eloise. 

"Stop that," Eloise hissed back, but moved. Francesca looked up at Violet and rolled her eyes, as if to say, _why must I be saddled with such childish sisters?_

Hyacinth and Gregory peered into the cradle and Gregory said, "They're quite small." 

"Seeing as they were only just _born_ , I find that quite natural," Eloise said with haughtily dismissal. 

Gregory frowned and looked at his brother, "Anthony, was I this small?" 

"Indeed you were,” Anthony said from the floor. “I was always afraid I might lose you in this large house for how small you were." 

"Hmm," Gregory tilted his head. "When they get bigger, we'll make them worthy players in our cricket games. I'll teach them-" 

"You will not!" Hyacinth pushed him. " _I_ will." 

"Children," Violet stared warningly, but it was too late. 

Gregory pushed Hyacinth back, and her yelp of indignation was enough to cause one of the infants (Violet could not see which of them from her position) to wake up and let out a loud shriek. 

Which immediately caused Simon to yelp, "Who's dying?" and fall on the floor, hitting his head. 

Well. That might explain Anthony’s position on it. 

* 

"I am glad," Anthony said, gazing adoringly down at their daughter, "That of the two of them, she is the one that came from your loins. It is a sad truth of our world, but life is far easier for a beautiful girl, and being a natural born daughter will be struggle enough." 

They were seated, a few hours after the birth, alone in their bedroom with the children. The babes had been fed, cleaned and clothed and introduced to their various aunts and uncles, and after assuring themselves that Siena did not want to hold the babes nor name them (and making sure once more), Anthony and Simon had finally found themselves alone with the two babes for the first time. 

Simon looked up from watching his son's soft breathing, thinking over what Anthony had just said. "Just so I know I have this correct, are you insinuating that our daughter will grow more beautiful than our son because she is of my blood?" 

Anthony gave him a look as though it were Simon being absurd, "Yes, Simon." 

If it were a lady of the night saying this, Simon would have thought it a coy attempt to receive compliments. Anthony was not the sort to do so, though. When he desired to be complimented, he simply demanded it. Which meant he truly believed what he said. 

Now, Simon was not a fool. He knew the gifts of beauty he had been given, that he was a much more striking figure then Anthony. But that Anthony thought he was incapable of siring a beautiful daughter made Simon consider that he should have been showering Anthony with more compliments and praise every day of his life. 

"I do believe our son will be a magnificently handsome man one day," Simon said with utter belief. "As his father is." 

Anthony snorted, but he was grinning. 

"This will be good for us," Anthony said, and before Simon could reply, Anthony continued, "Natural born children of the same mistress is a _very_ good explanation as to why we joined our land. It would make perfect sense, as we would want them raised together." 

"We did not join our lands, I _handed_ the lands and funds to you," Simon pointed out. He was going to lord that over his lover for the rest of their lives. 

"Yes, yes," Anthony said, tone high and mighty. He sounded like a bloody ice prince. Simon wanted to bow before him and take his cock into his mouth. "But as I was saying. This would also be a good explanation for why I shall not marry. Any respectable lady would expect me to put a natural son aside when she was brought into the household." 

Automatically, Simon placed a protective hand on the boy where he lay on the bed, "Which you would not do." 

"Naturally. And none who know me nor our family would expect that of me. This will make future Seasons rather easier." 

Simon sighed and leaned against the cushions, "Can you stop planning your way through the ton for one minute?" 

"No," Anthony said cheerfully. "That is my responsibility between us." 

Simon snorted. "We have an important decision to make, though." 

"Yes," Anthony said, sobering down. "Names." 

The two of them shuffled closer, so they could look at the two babes together. 

"The boy must be Edmund," Simon said, caressing his soft forehead. For his grandfather. 

Anthony gave him an adoring look, "Yes. Edmund. Edmund FitzAnthony." 

"Perhaps Edmund Benedict FitzAnthony?" Simon suggested. It seemed only fair to name their son after the man who had kept their secret and confidence for so many years. 

Anthony nodded, "Yes. Good. And the girl?" 

Simon shrugged, "What do you wish to name her?" 

"I suppose it would only be right to name her for your mother," Anthony said gently. "Sarah FitzSimon." 

Simon thought over that for a moment, and then added, "Sarah Daphne FitzSimon. I do believe your sister has earned the right to that honour." 

Anthony hesitated, then said, "I think perhaps it would be honourable to call her for her own mother." 

Simon gave him a sharp look, "Siena has not shown interest-" 

"I know. But she still _birthed_ her. Risked her life to give the infants theirs. And, aside from all that, she is a good and strong woman. Two attributes I should wish for our daughter. Sarah Daphne Sienna FitzSimon, then." 

"What a large name for such a little thing," Simon said softly. “For both of them.” 

“They shall grow into them.” 

* 

The vicar bowed deeply, or at least attempted to. His time-weary body was hardly strong enough to hold the pose, and he needed to be assisted back to an upright standing position by the very man he had bowed to. 

"Steady, Father," Duke Bridgerton said softly. 

Father Lucas smiled at the young man and allowed himself to be helped into one of the pews. Anthony sat down next to him, and Mr. Basset, who he had brought with him, hovered over the two of them with a severe look. 

"I am glad you have come to see me," Father Lucas said, patting Anthony's head. 

The Bridgerton's nose wrinkled, "I come every Sunday for service." 

"Ah, but do you stay to speak to an old priest? Not as often as you should," Lucas waved a finger at him. 

Anthony blushed and nodded, "No, that is true." 

"It is good that your mother has returned," Lucas said, smug. "The Dowager came calling on me the day she returned. As did Miss Daphne." 

The Duke raised his hands in submission. 

Father Lucas smiled. He had been the parish priest at Aubrey town for the past thirty-three years. All eight of the Bridgertons were christened by him, he had wed Viscount Edmund and Viscountess Violet, and presided over the viscount's funeral. To Lucas, the Bridgertons were the finest family in all of fair England, that had allowed him to grow and cultivate a parish of love and kindness. He was extremely proud of what he had created, what the Bridgertons had created with him, and of the wonderful young sirs and ladies the children of the family were growing to be. 

Anthony especially had been thriving the past few months, becoming more open with his subjects and confident in his decisions. Lucas could not know for sure- but he suspected it was the effect of the young man now looming over them in silence. 

"Tell me, what can I do for you this fine morning, my Duke?" Father Lucas asked. 

The Duke hesitated, and then said, "You shall be ashamed of me." 

Father Lucas felt his breath hitch and tightened his hold on his cane, "If you desire confession..." 

"No, it is not-well, perhaps slightly," Anthony sighed. "I shall tell you. Simon and I, we have both fathered natural children." 

Breathing out, Lucas nodded slowly. He was glad it was not something worse: as Anthony was unmarried, fathering a natural child did not involve a betrayal of vows made to God. He knew fully well that Anthony and Benedict both were rakes, as such men were known in London, and he supposed he could not be so very surprised. 

Though since the arrival of Mr. Basset, he had rather supposed...well, hopefully if there was anything _too_ dishonest in the making of these children, such as a mistress of married status, Anthony would confess. 

"Father...?" Anthony asked hesitantly. 

"I am pleased, that you are claiming your children," Father Lucas gave Mr. Basset a fleeting smile as well. "It is the honourable thing to do. And as you are here, I suppose you intend to bring the children into the light of God as well?" 

Mr. Basset nodded, still quiet. He seemed rather nervous. 

"We would like the Christening to happen here," Anthony said. "Before we leave for London." 

Father Lucas nodded. Naturally. As all Bridgerton infants were. "Very well. Now, tell me who you had in mind for godparents..." 

* 

On the next Sunday after the birth, Sarah and Eddie were brought into the light of God. Simon stood as godfather for Edmund Benedict FitzAnthony, and Anthony as godfather for Sarah Siena Daphne FitzSimon. Anthony had wanted Benedict and Colin as godfathers, but his mother had gently reminded him that among the responsibilities of a godfather was the caring of a child after the parents' death, and so if he wanted Simon to be in a position to keep raising Edmund should Anthony die, he would need to be given that honour. 

Anthony had found the situation uncomfortable. He was not Sarah's godfather, he was her _father_ , and did not like the sense of not having the rights over her. But he held his tongue and kept a smile on his face, reminding himself that he was lucky he needed so little subterfuge in his life with Simon. He could survive this little, symbolic ceremony. 

Eloise and Daphne were godmothers-Daphne of Sarah and Eloise of Edmund (they had tossed a coin to decide which would be which), Hyacinth and Gregory lit candles and Violet... 

Violet cried. 

* 

"Are you sure you wish to leave?" Violet asked, hesitant, as Siena stepped into the carriage. "If you wish, you could stay. For as long as you need." 

She had only given birth a week earlier, and to twins. Siena was still rather pale, and unsteady on her feet. But she had been adamant that it was time for her to leave. 

"Thank you, M'Lady," Siena said, leaning out of the carriage's window. "But my career and life will not wait for me to be prepared for it. I thank you for all your kindness." 

"Do you not wish to speak to Anthony and Simon before you depart...?" 

"I cannot think of what we may say to each other." 

Violet hesitated for a moment, and then said gently, "If you wish, during the Season, to see the children...You shall always be welcome at Bridgerton House." 

"It is very kind of you to say so. I might come once in a while," She did not sound as though the distance from the children would cause her any distress, so Violet leaned over to kiss her cheek and allowed the carriage to take her away. 

She stood and watched until the carriage disappeared from view, and then nodded to herself and went back into the house. Her children and grandchildren were all in the morning room, some seated around the table eating, and some on the carpet, cooing over Eddie and Sarah. 

"I think he smiled!" Gregory squeaked, as he peered at Edmund. The baby was laying on the soft carpet, waving his arms and legs up and down. 

"Babes at this age cannot yet smile, my dove," Violet said, sitting down next to Gregory and kissing his cheek. She was feeling rather maudlin around her youngest boy recently, knowing that she would be losing him soon. Gregory was rapidly approaching his thirteenth birthday, and soon would be heading to Eton. 

It had been the hardest when Anthony had gone, her firstborn, her darling boy. She had cried for days after he had left, inconsolable. When Benedict had gone, it had been easier, given that she knew that Anthony would watch over him, and Colin had gone with a few friends of an age with him. Gregory, though, had no brothers to watch over him, and no friends that would be joining him. It was also rather hard to imagine how Hyacinth and him would fair without each other. They squabbled constantly, but were also one another's closest and steadfast companions. 

"He is letting gas," She told Gregory. 

"Really?" Gregory scrunched up his nose. "How silly." 

"You did it as well," Anthony pointed out. He was marching around the room, tapping Sarah's back as he went. The kitchen maid who had been feeding the twins was just leaving the room after having provided Sarah with nutrition. The doctor had promised to return to Aubrey Hall as soon as he could, with some powders he promised could be mixed with animal milk to create a mixture fit for the consumption of babes, which would allow the poor kitchen maid (who had her own babe to feed) to rest. 

"Did I?" Gregory did not seem to credit it. 

"You did," Anthony confirmed, and winced as Sarah opened her mouth and let out the regurgitated milk over the cloth Anthony had placed over his shoulder. "I should know, I found much enjoyment in you as an infant." 

Violet smiled, "You were always a wonderful older brother." 

Which was why she knew he would make a wonderful father. He already was one, keeping the children with him as much as possible in place of leaving them with the maids in the nursery all day (which reminded her, she was going to have to find a nanny in London, one who would not mind coming back to Aubrey Hall as well. She filed that off in her mind, yet another assignment she must complete). 

Simon was a rather different matter. Not that she doubted that Simon already adored the children... But whenever a baby began crying, or would not calm, Simon grew pale and made a hasty escape. He seemed frightened of their tears and restlessness, and would look at Anthony in alarm as though afraid he might have done something wrong. 

He seemed afraid of hurting his children. It made Violet’s heart ache. She could not understand why he should fear such a thing. 

Simon was not in the morning room, the only member of the family not currently present. Violet thought that he was speaking to some of the tenants, the ones who were working on his new wheat. Violet supposed that in London, with Anthony sitting in the House of Lords, it will be Simon with more time to dedicate to the children. She was going to have to keep a close eye on him. 

Violet remembered the days and weeks after the birth of Colin. Unlike the two births that preceded it, and three that followed it, she had not felt happiness and pleasure. Only a deep exhaustion and sadness. She had held Colin tightly to her chest and wondered how she could possibly love and care for this babe when she could barely feel her own heart. It had taken time, and the loving attentions of her husband and children, for her to feel the joys of life again. 

But she had never been able to shake the fear that Colin had lost something during those weeks, that she had deprived him of something. She did not want Simon to end up feeling the same in the years to come. 

"Anthony, dearest, may I speak with you?" 

Anthony stopped his pacing for a moment to nod, "Of course. You have Eddie well in hand, Gregory?" 

"Yes!" 

"Good, come now," He said to his daughter. "It's time to speak to Grandmama." 

As soon as they were outside of the morning room and the door was closed safety behind them by the footman, Anthony spoke. 

"You wish to speak of Simon, do you not?" 

Violet nodded, reaching out for Sarah. Anthony seemed reluctant to surrender her, but did so, and Violet revelled in the unparalleled feel of a babe in her arms. Her darling, beloved granddaughter. Violet would devote her life to ensuring her life is as charmed and sweet as can be. Caring for her father was the first part of that. "You are concerned for him as well, then." 

"He is afraid," Anthony said bluntly. "He looks at our children and is afraid he might hurt them, as his father hurt him." 

"He would not-" Violet cried out, insulted on Simon's behalf. 

"Of course he shan't," Anthony said with a sigh. "But he does not know the love of a father, how it is done." 

"You must teach him," Violet urged. "You know it. You have done it for eleven years." 

Ever since her Edmund had died, Anthony had taken on the rule with magnificent success. 

"I will," Anthony said quietly, then grinned. "And you shall inform us what we are doing wrong." 

"Of course I shall." 

* 

Anthony was waiting for him when Simon returned to Aubrey Hall and their chambers, deep into the night. He had spent hours contending with one of the older farmers, who was fighting the modern cow-rearing ways Simon was attempting to introduce into Bridgerton. Simon was not quite sure he had managed to convince him, but had certainly warn down his defences. He would return the following morn, and hopefully achieve an agreement. 

He had not expected to find Anthony waiting for him, but there he was, sitting on the sofa in their outer chamber. He looked up from the book he had been reading and motioned Simon to sit beside him. 

Simon collapsed down and raised Anthony's feet into his lap, "What are you reading?" 

"It is a called _Pride and Prejudic_ _e_ , it's rather amusing," Anthony placed the book on the table and yawned, flopping down on the pillows. "Did old Mr. Norris cave to your superior charm?" 

Simon snorted, "Almost. And you? How did you spend the day?" 

"Sarah would not cease crying," Anthony sighed. "Mother said it was normal for a new-born, but..." 

Yes, but. Simon felt a twisting in his chest, understanding the fear in Anthony's voice. What if there was something truly wrong in Sarah, and Simon and Anthony did not assist her? What if she was hurt, what if she required a mother and none was present- 

"They're in the nursery with the maid now," Anthony said, pulling Simon out of his fear. "And we need to speak." 

"Must we?" Simon lay down over Anthony's body, nuzzling his neck. 

"Yes," Anthony said, sounding amused yet serious, and pulled Simon away. Simon lay on the sofa, twisting his head so that Anthony and he could look one another in the eye. Anthony reached out and caressed Simon's cheek softly, and Simon closed his eyes to more easily enjoy the sensation of being petted. "About the twins." 

Simon's eyes flew open, "What is wrong-" 

"Nothing, they are fine," Anthony said immediately, pulling Simon into his arms. "It is about you, and your fear of them." 

Simon scowled, "I am not _afraid_ of the babes, Tony." 

"You are afraid of hurting them." 

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

"I should be. I have no understanding in the matter." 

What if he hurt them? What if he held to tightly, and they choked? Or too loosely, and they fell? And what if he grew angry at them? 

What if he became his father? 

As though he could read his mind (and perhaps he could, Simon would not put it past his lovely Tony), Anthony said quietly, "There is nothing to understand. We are at the beginning, we will learn. You will not hurt them, you love them." 

Simon shook his head, "My father-" 

"Your father did not hurt you because he did not know how to treat a child. He hurt you because he _chose_ to, because he elected to believe it would make you stronger. Such pain is not caused accidently." 

The sound of the wind from outside Aubrey Hall filled in the silence as Simon thought. 

"You say we are the beginning and are learning. But you already know, and so would it not be better for them that you alone hold them? They do not need me." 

Anthony gave him a withering look, "And how do you think I learned? By holding and caring for my siblings. I did not know, when Daphne was born, how one holds a babe. I _learned_. You shall to. And you are their _father_ , you cannot be replaced by maids or their aunts and uncles and grandmama." 

Simon closed his eyes, hugging Anthony close, "I am frightened." 

"I know, love," Anthony whispered into his ear. "I am frightened as well. But we shall persevere. Together." 

* 

"May we speak?" Eloise asked softly from the door. 

Daphne put aside the letter she had been penning to her darling Fred and said, "Of course, sister." 

Her younger sister walked into Daphne's bedroom and sat down next to her. Eloise folded her hands together and said, "I have spoken to Simon." 

"...yes?" 

Eloise rubbed her eyes, "You attempted to...touch yourself as he told you?" 

Daphne blinked, "He told you as well." 

"Yes, and how a child is made," Eloise said. "I practically forced him." 

She knew how a child was made! 

"You will have to tell me how that is done, Simon did not get around to telling me _that_ ," Daphne urged. 

"I will, but first you must tell me if you touched between your legs," Eloise said. 

Daphne blushed, "Yes. I did." 

"And..." Eloise hesitated. "How did it feel?" 

Feeling her blush growing deeper, Daphne stammered out, "It-it was so very pleasant. But you shall see when you attempt it yourself-" 

"But I did," Eloise interrupted. 

"Oh," Daphne blinked. "Then I do not see why you asked." 

"Daph," Eloise said quietly. "I felt nothing. No pleasure." 

Daphne frowned, "Oh." 

"Oh," Eloise echoed. "I do not know why I do not feel a thing! I must be an unnatural woman-" 

"No!" Daphne snapped, getting of her chair to hug Eloise from behind. "You are _not unnatural_." 

"But Simon seemed to elude that all women and men feel pleasure when touching there,” Eloise bit her lip. 

“Most would say that _all_ men desire a wife,” Daphne said gently. “But we know better, do we not? You are not unnatural; you are simply yourself.”


	4. Chapter 4

Simon found that his conversation with Tony had taken quite a bit of energy out of him. He had hoped that Anthony would retire with him to their bed (he was far too tired to do anything at the moment, but just sleeping with Anthony in his arms seemed as erotic as a cock in his mouth at that moment), but Anthony seemed to decide that Simon _learning_ should begin right away. So Simon was forced to leave the comfortable sofa with his comfortable Anthony to stumble after him into the nursey. 

The maid currently in charge of the room curtsied lowly, "M'Lords. The little ones are still sleeping." 

"Thank you, Marie. You can take a little break, for half an hour or so. We'll take charge of the children." 

Almost as soon as the door closed behind Marie, Edmund's eyes opened. Simon walked over to his cradle, and caressed his tiny little forehead with his thumb, just as he did on Eddie's first night of life. His beautiful, precious little boy, blood of Anthony's blood. 

"You have awoken, then, young lord?" Simon whispered softly, and Eddie yawned, his tiny little mouth opening wide. 

Anthony placed a hand on Simon's shoulder, and led him away from the cradles and into the rocking chair. Simon breathed out as he sat down, and watched Anthony coo at their son and raise him into his arms. 

"Come along, then," Anthony whispered to the gurgling Eddie, and walked over to Simon. 

Simon leaned backwards on the chair. 

"C'mon," Anthony got on his knees, and carefully placed Eddie in Simon's arms, though he still held on. 

Simon could feel the warm weight of the child with the soft, comforting weight of Anthony's hands. 

"Don't let go," Simon found himself pleading. 

"Allright," Anthony nodded, and rested his forehead against Simon's, placing Eddie in a safe bubble in between them. 

"Do you know, when I was a new-born, my dad nearly killed me?" 

Simon jerked his head backwards, "What?" 

"Well, not quite," Anthony smiled gently. “You see, Mother had left me alone with Father for a few hours as she went to care for the household. When she returned, Father had fallen asleep and rolled on the bed, falling on top of me.” 

“Dear Lord.” 

“I was quite all right,” Anthony reassured, though Simon of course knew that. Anthony was more than quite all right. Anthony was perfection itself, despite his many, many imperfections. “Mother screamed, naturally, and Father as well when he woke. But then he rolled off and they discovered that I was quite all right. Still fast asleep.” 

“Your mother must have been quite cross with the Viscount.” 

“Oh, rather. I understand she would not speak to him for a whole two hours following the incident.” 

Simon grinned, and suddenly realized that Anthony had slipped his hands away, so that it was Simon alone holding Eddie. The child has fallen back into sleep, little head resting on Simon’s chest. 

The grin slipped away, and Simon swallowed, running a hand down Eddie’s back. 

“There, see?” Anthony caressed his hair. “You aren’t hurting him.” 

“And if we make mistakes?” 

Anthony shrugged and said, philosophically, “All humans make mistakes.” 

“The mistakes parents make have a rather more permanent mark.” 

“The things they do right do, as well.” 

* 

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity. Or at least Simon thought so. He didn't really know, since it was hard to remember anything that happened, given how bone-weary he was constantly. 

He was starting to wonder if Sarah and Eddie were, in fact, attempting to torture Anthony and him. 

They were being rather successful at it. 

After his and Tony's conversation, Simon had concluded that listening to Anthony's advice had only rarely led him wrong (he could think of quite a few incidents at Eton and Oxford that disproved that idea. And a few trips of various Churches, and that one time with the flame dancer-but that was besides the point), he would attempt to be a more active part of his children's lives. In the spirit of that decision, Anthony and he had moved the babes’ cribs from the nursey to their sleeping chambers, kept next to bottles of powdered milk for feeding, to have the children with them at night. 

And that was when the torture had begun. The twins slept for no more than three hours at a time, and needed feeding nearly constantly, or so it felt. When they did not need feeding, then they were crying due to dirty nappies or because they were too cold or too hot. Or they were simply crying because they were tired, but did not seem to realize that going back to sleep might solve that particular conundrum. The longest Simon could sleep was an hour and a half, since even after soothing the babies back into sleep he needed to sit completely still for half an hour or so before attempting to move then back to their cribs, or they would wake again, and then the whole delightful process would need to be repeated. 

And that was only the night. During the day the twins had a whole crowd of Bridgertons and servants willing and ready to take them on, but Simon still had his work on the Bridgerton lands to attend to, duties that grew more and more demanding as the time of thier return to London grew near. There was so much to get done to make sure the Bridgerton farms were prepared for the next six months, when Simon and Anthony would not be there. 

He stumbled through the weeks, barely awake enough to think. 

Oddly, he found that it helped. He held and hugged and cooed at the babies, aware enough to grasp their sweet scent and beautiful eyes, but very little else. There was no place in his mind for fear or uncertainty, and by the time the twins had reached three weeks of age, he no longer felt the pangs of fear when one of the children was placed in his arms. 

* 

Simon and Anthony were by the pond, settled on a picnic blanket together. Anthony was laying down, Sarah's sleeping form on his chest, while Simon sat next to him, making faces at Eddie. Violet watched them from half behind a tree, revelling in the beautiful picture. During the past three weeks, she had been blessed enough to watch the creation of a family, a unit that was separated from the rest of them. Anthony and Simon allowed all the Bridgertons to hold Sarah and Eddie and tend to them, but it was as clear as can be that they were, in fact, allowing it. 

Violet remembered going to the nurseries of other ladies, and finding it so very odd that it was the nanny who held court over that domain. She had been the one to declare when the children must eat, who may hold them and when. Even the mothers had bowed to that authority. 

It had never been that way for Violet. She had been mistress of the nursery, the nanny a beloved and desperately needed partner and helper. She and the nannies would work together on making feeding and sleeping schedules, and determine who would be attending the children at all times. That was, she thought, the only true way to be a parent. It was not the nanny's job to raise her children-that burden God had given to her. 

She had been somewhat afraid, when the twins were first born, that Anthony and Simon would be parents of the mould she so detested, the ton parents who only took interest in their children once they were old enough to be useful. And the first few days, it appeared that Simon at least was of that mould. He held the infants a few times throughout the day, smiled at them and escaped the room whenever they began to cry. If she had not been able to see it was caused from fear, she would have found it detestable. 

Whatever Anthony had said to him, though, it seemed to have penetrated deep into Simon's soul. He did not change overnight, but he began to _try_. When the infants cried, and panic entered his eyes, he forced himself to remain, to continued hushing and calming until Eddie and/or Sarah fell back into sleep. When they did, Simon would stare down at them, as though finding it difficult to believe that he had done that, that it was his hands that brought calm and peace to his children. 

But it made him more confident, day after day, as he saw he did not hurt them, and even when they cried and cried-they could be comforted. It might take time (good Lord, it might take hours! Especially with Sarah, that little lady was a fussy one), but in the end Simon would calm them, in the end he would discover what it was they needed. 

Violet smiled, leaning her back against the tree. Simon was laying back down, curling his body around Anthony and Eddie in a protective fashion. She had come to let them know it was time to return to Aubrey Hall, for the last preparations before leaving for London, but it was difficult to force herself to ruin the idyllic moment before her. It was a shame Benedict was in London. Were he here, she would have commissioned a painting. 

"Simon," Violet said softly as she walked forward. She placed a gentle hand on Simon's shoulder, and he twisted to look at her, head leaning on the picnic blanket. "It is time to leave," She added. "The carriages are meant to be here in a few hours or so." 

Simon yawned like a lazy cat, and sat up, "I'll wake Tony. Would you like to take...one of them? It will be easier, as I expect I shall need to half-carry Anthony back." 

Violet snorted and picked Eddie up gently, causing the baby to fuss gently, "As I am the one whose job it has been for many years to wake Anthony up, I wish you up." 

"You forget," Simon said, sending Anthony a loving look. "I woke him up every day at Eton and Oxford." 

Yes. It was good sometimes to remind one’s self that the bond shared by Simon and Anthony went back nearly twenty years. They did not need children to be a family. They had been a separate unit far before. 

* 

The chaos of the move hit Simon straight in the face the moment they came close to the house. Hyacinth was running up and down the stairs, watching the footmen as they loaded trunk after trunk of the family's belongings into four different carriages. Simon assumed she was attempting to be helpful, but he could tell from the look on the footmen's faces that they were only holding themselves back from shoving the girl away due to her being a daughter of the house. The first footman, Henry, send a pleading look towards Simon and Anthony, and Anthony rushed forward to save him from his overly enthusiastic sister. 

The inside of the house is no better, with the ladies of the house still fighting over how many dresses to take to London ("You will be getting many dresses from the Queen, I think," Francesca said to Daphne. " _I_ need the extra space in the trunk, as I shall not be getting new clothes from a royal aunt-in-law."), and Gregory playing with his marbles next to the grand staircase, forcing the servants to move around him. Violet is directing the last packing with Eddie on her arm, looking harried and out of breath. 

Anthony handed Sarah over to Simon so he could go save his mother, and Simon took charge of moving Gregory out of the way and herding him and Daphne into the kitchen. A few of the kitchen staff were moving as well, but most were not, and those who were had already packed, and so two of the kitchen maids had the time to play with Gregory and Hyacinth. 

"Stay here," Simon ordered, and the two children nodded, already absorbed in a game of checkers. 

Without Hyacinth and Gregory there, the packing could proceed at a much quicker pace. Violet managed the argument between Francesca and Daphne (Fran was coaxed into leaving a few dresses behind so Daphne could take the one she had worn when Frederich proposed after being promised four new dresses the moment they arrived in London), and all the trunks were placed on top of the carriages. The family would be going with the luggage, and footmen who would act as drivers, while the rest of the staff joining them in London (around a quarter of them) would come on farm carriages. 

Violet, Gregory, Hyacinth and Francesca went into the first of the carriages, and Daphne, Eloise, Anthony and Simon into the second. The twins were placed in the third, with two maids to watch over them. It meant that for the next two days, Simon and Anthony would have hours at a time without the twins. 

They would have time to talk. They would have time to laugh, Simon could read- 

They both fell asleep the moment the carriage started moving forward. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Should we not wake them?” Eloise asked, hesitant. 

Daphne turned away from gazing up at the sky (the moon had just come up, and she was wondering about her Fred, if he was watching the moon in London, as well. Oh, how she missed him!) to look at her brothers. They were both slumped down deeply into sleep, as they had the past eight hours. They hadn’t even stirred when they’d come to a stop to exchange horses a few hours earlier, or when Daphne and Eloise got into a rather heated discussion over Prussian politics. 

“They’ll wake when we come to a stop at the inn for the night,” Daphne said. “I believe they can use any moment of rest they can receive.” 

“They _have_ been run off their feet, have they not?” Eloise shuddered. “I do not understand why they have not placed the twins in the nursery. They do not need to be so very tired constantly.” 

“Mama has convinced them to put the twins in the nursey when we reach London, as Anthong shall need his sleep to function appropriately in the House of Lords,” Daphne confided. “I do believe they were attempting to form a closer bond with Sarah and Eddie.” 

“They’ve succeeded in that, I think.” 

“Yes,” Daphne said brightly. “They always know when the babes are about cry. Isn’t it wonderful?” 

Eloise twisted one of her bows between her fingers and said, “This is what you desire, is it not?” 

Daphne smiled, “Yes, it is.” 

She could see it in her mind’s eyes: her seated by the fire with a babe in her arms, while Fred played with children on the floor. It was beautiful and wonderful and soon to be a reality. 

“That is what we are meant to want,” Eloise said. She was folding and unfolding her hands, clearly nervous. 

“Eloise,” Daphne grasped Eloise’s hand in hers. “I know you do not feel ready for your coming out-” 

“It is not that I am unready,” Eloise interrupted. Her tone was harsh and she held her head high in determination. “It is that I do not _wish_ it. I do not wish for marriage, nor children of my own.” 

Daphne blinked. She found it hard to credit, as marriage and children were all she had ever wanted. She sensed that Eloise was in earnest, so forced down an incredulous sound. 

“I...see,” Daphne looked around nervously, wishing Mana had shared the carriage with them instead of travelling with Hyacinth and Francesca. She would know what to say. “Is this to do with...what we discussed?” 

Eloise blushed, “Some. But I have been thinking on it for some time. Knowing that sort of, um, activity, would not give me pleasure caused me to think harder on it. And I realized it is not what I wish to do.” 

“What _would_ you wish to do?” 

Eloise sighed, “Have you read the new book Anthony ordered? _Pride and Prejudice_?” 

“Yes. I found it rather enjoyable,” Daphne replied, rather confused. “It was by the same author who wrote _Sense and Sensibility_ , I believe.” 

“Yes,” Eloise said, looking rather excited. “The writer is a _lady_. Jane Austin.” 

Daphne thought she was starting to understand. 

“I did not know you viewed your writing in such a serious light,” She said carefully. 

Eloise shrugged and said, “I did not, until the past Season. Until-well, Lady Whistledown.” 

Daphne sighed, “I do not approve of Lady Whistledown.” 

“You do not need to, I suppose. But she is a woman, holding the ton in the palm of her hand,” Eloise said. She hesitated for a moment and then added, “That is not what I want. I do not care so for the follies of the ton. I want...I want to create something that shall last throughout the ages.” 

Daphne could understand that. She wanted a similar thing, in the depth of her soul: to mother a dynasty that would make history. 

“I understand,” Daphne leaned her head against Eloise’s shoulder. “It is an admirable thing to dream of, and I do not doubt you will accomplish all you set your mind too.” 

And her sister was the braver of them, wishing for such a difficult dream. 

* 

“I feel as though I should not be so fatigued,” Anthony noted idly, pulling his nightshift over his head. “We rested for nearly nine hours.” 

Simon shrugged, yawning as he carefully settled the finally sleeping Eddie into the large padded basket next to his sister (for once it had been Sarah who went to sleep easier. The trip must have not suited Edmund well). "We have quite a bit of hours to substitute," He said, carefully slipping his hands from under Eddie. This was always the most dangerous bit-if Eddie was not deep enough into sleep, he might notice he was being forsaken and resume bawling. Simon was lucky at that moment; Eddie did not stir. Simon breathed out, satisfied, and then turned to Anthony. 

"Do you wish to return to sleep?" 

"How long would we have, perhaps an hour before one of them wakes?" Anthony tilted his head, exposing the long lines of his snow-white neck. "I can think of more enjoyable ways to spend that hour then in slumber." 

Simon swallowed. They had not had time (nor energy) for those sorts of _activities_ since the twins had come. 

"Well?" Anthony was smirking, the wretch knew perfectly well his power over Simon. 

"Get on the bed." 

"Oh?" Anthony grinned. "Is that a request or a demand, my lord?" 

"Demand," Simon hissed, knowing this game. He leaped on Anthony, pulling him on the bed. Anthony laughed, struggling to escape as Simon took hold of his wrists and pulled them over his head, trapping him securely in place. Anthony jerked forwards, his legs locking over Simon's thighs. 

Simon hissed at their cocks rubbed against each other. He leaned down, increasing the friction until they let out a moan as well. Simon sent a worried look at the basket, but God bless their babes-they could wake in a moment when they wished, but should they desire to sleep nothing could wake them. 

And it seemed right now they had elected to remain in slumber. 

"Simon," Anthony's voice was husky and deep, causing a shiver to go down Simon's spine. 

"Tony," Simon replied with a growl. He sat up, keeping a tight hold on Anthony's wrists, and reached for the satchel he'd dropped on the floor when first walking into the inn's room. He could feel Anthony's eyes following him as he pulled a small jar of oil out and placed it on the bed. 

He was going to have to release Anthony, but as he did Anthony kept his limbs limps in the same position. Simon smirked at him, and opened the jar to coat his fingers. Anthony breathed deeply and raised his hips. 

Simon used his clean hand to position a few pillows under Anthony's hips, exposing him to Simon's greedy eyes. 

"I've missed this," Simon whispered, once more taking hold of Anthony's wrists. 

They managed to get halfway through the process before Sarah burst into screeches. 

* 

Benedict was waiting for them outside of Bridgerton House, leaning against the fence. He jumped forward when the carriages bearing his family came into view. Eloise grinned when she saw him. She had not quite realized how much she had missed him. She jumped up and down in her seat, itching to jump out of the carriage and reunite with her very favourite brother. But the sharp look Mama gave her made it clear that jumping out would _not_ be viewed favourably. 

She only needed to wait a few moments before the carriage came to a stop in front of Benedict. She was the first out, of course, and was wrapped in Benedict's arms and spun around. Eloise laughed, holding on tightly before being placed on the ground. 

"Look at you!" Benedict said, pinching her nose playfully. "You look just the same." 

"Charming, Benedict," Eloise rolled her eyes, observing him. He certainly did not look quite the same. He was radiant, glowing with clear happiness, like Anthony. It made them both look wonderfully handsome. 

"Ah, Princess Daphne," Benedict bowed mockingly to Daphne as she, Mama and Hyacinth stepped out of the carriage. Daphne rolled his eyes, but grinned back at him. 

The welcomes continued, Benedict hugging and kissing his mother, Daphne and Hyacinth, and by the time he was done the inhabitants of the other two carriages had come out. Gregory and Francesca were given their own hugs and kisses, and then Benedict turned to Simon and Anthony, and the two maids standing behind them. 

"Benedict," Simon said in greeting as Anthony walked forward and hugged his younger brother close to his chest. 

"Hello there," Benedict grinned, hugging back before detaching himself. "Show me my niece and nephew, then!" 

Anthony and Eloise followed Benedict as he walked over to the maids to peek at the sleeping infants. 

"Well? What is your judgment, then?" Simon asked, looking amused. 

Benedict looked up with a smile as bright as the sun, and said, "I'm going to paint them." 

Anthony slapped his own forehead, "Naturally." 

* 

“He looks a bit like Father, does he not?” Benedict asked, tilting his head to see past his canvass to the child laying peacefully in Anthony’s arms, chewing on his own fist. 

Anthony hummed in thought, allowing his thumb to be caught and sucked on, “I rather think he looks like me.” 

“Do not be ridiculous, he is far too handsome for that,” Benedict said cheerfully, grinning at the death glare his older brother was inflicting on him. He turned his attention back to the charcoal painting and added a few lines to the outline of the blanket wrapped around the painted Edmund. There. It looked cosy enough now. 

Not even in painted form would Benedict allow his nephew to be uncomfortable. 

“So,” He said, clearing his throat. “What is it like?” 

“I think he’s about to evacuate his bowls, and then you’ll see the dark side of it.” 

Benedict frowned, “How can you tell?” 

“See how he scrunches his nose? That’s his sign that he’s preparing for it.” 

“Does Sarah do the same?” 

“Sarah starts crying, and continues after she does her...work. She’s a loud one, Sarah. Edmund is much quieter.” 

“She’s more of a Bridgerton then him, then.” 

Anthony laughed, “Oh yes, he takes after his stoic Basset father.” 

Benedict added the laughter to Anthony’s face. He wasn’t sure how he could possibly capture the loving look in his eyes as he gazed down at his son, but was determined to try. 

“But really, what-what is it like?” 

Anthony looked up at him, as serious suddenly as Benedict. 

“I thought I would be ready, since we helped with the little ones. But I was not. It is strange, Ben. I thought I knew what it meant to love someone, what it meant to be terrified for someone. It’s impossible to describe, really. You will see one day, and then you’ll understand that you cannot possibly truly explain it.” 

* 

"Tea," Lady Danbury demanded of the footman as soon as she was showed into Simon's office. Simon raised an eyebrow and nodded to the baffled man, who had not even had the time to announce the lady. The footman managed to put his servant's blank back on his face and stepped out of the room. Danbury tsked and looked around the office. "So, this is what you do nowhere days?" 

Simon sighed and pushed the letter he was writing to the mayor of one of the towns under Anthony's ducal command to the side. 

"Lady Danbury, it is good to see you," He said dryly. "As we have only arrived in London two days earlier, I suppose that yes, I have been spending my time writing letters." 

"Hmm," Lady Danbury walked around, looking over the contents of the office. "You gave the duchy away." 

"A few months ago," Simon said, folding his arms over his chest. "I have been expecting an angry letter from you, or even a visit to Aubrey Hall." 

Lady Danbury snorted and sat down, "No, I needed to see you, I knew you would return to London. Why did you do it?" 

Simon shrugged, "Anthony will function much better in the House of Lords with the power given to a duke. And I have no interest in playing with politics." 

"As though that matters! You gave up the _duchy_ , our greatest stake in power-" 

" _Your_ greatest stake in power," Simon corrected. "That is what this is about, is it not? You desire a position of strength in the House of Lords, but I am afraid you will have to negotiate with Anthony for the laws you desire passed." 

Lady Danbury glared at him, "Or perhaps I shall deal with you, and you shall deal with the Duke." 

Simon waved a hand dismissively, "Speak to Anthony. I will not become the voice that whispers ideas in the night." 

"That is the position of a duke's wife, and is that not what you are?" 

"Hmm," Simon tilted his head in thought. "We switch those positions." 

Lady Danbury slapped the back of his head, but she was smiling now, "Very well, I shall speak to Duke Bridgerton. Now! For my second purpose in coming." 

Simon smiled. He had rather missed Lady Danbury. 

"I hear you are a father now," Lady Danbury said. 

Leaning backwards on his chair, Simon said, "Yes, well..." 

Lady Danbury sighed, "Being a bastard is not easy." 

Simon winced, "It is not. But being the illegitimate child of a duke is survivable." 

"And the illegitimate daughter of a country gentleman?" 

Simon sighed, "Hopefully she will grow beautiful. Or love a gentleman farmer." 

"I remember when your mother and father were wed," Lady Danbury said quietly. "Sarah never found joy with your father. And yet there are poor farmers who struggle to feed themselves their entire life, and yet live in joy and love all their days." 

"Yes, I have seen that in Aubrey Hall." 

Lady Danbury hesitated, "But should you desire it, I may take the girl in as my ward. Wards' backgrounds do not matter as much." 

Simon felt his muscles tense, "No. Our children stay with us." 

Danbury smiled, "Good. You love them, then."

 _More than anything else._


	6. Chapter 6

Fred came to Birdgerton House the day after Daphne and the rest of her damily had arrived in London. She had been expecting him all morning, standing in the parlour and looking out of the window. Eloise seemed amused by her behaviour, but Mama smiled in understanding. 

"I was the same when your father was courting me," She said, giving Daphne a one-armed hug. "It will be over soon, and then you shall see him daily." 

Daphne grinned, energy buzzing inside of her. It was only her and Mama waiting to greet Fred, which she could not be more grateful for. Anthony and Simon were in their rooms with the twins, Eloise had gone to Penelope, Francesca and Benedict were at the art gallery he was showcased at, and Gregory and Hyacinth had gone to spend the day with the daughter of a maid they were quite fond of. Mama would remain in the room, naturally. Anything else would be highly inappropriate. But it would be the closest to alone Daphne and Fred had ever been. 

When the carriage finally came to a stop and the prince stepped out, Daphne felt her breath hitch and clutched her necklace tightly. It was the necklace that Fred had given her at the beginning of their courtship. 

"Oh, he's here," Daphne giggled and rushed to the door of the parlour, waiting. 

The door opened and the footman let the prince in. 

"Daphne," Fred breathed out, and Daphne rushed to him, hugging him close. 

“I have missed you,” She whispered. 

Frederich smiled and stepped away from her, “And I you, so very much. You look beautiful. Not that you do not always-but-well-” 

Daphne giggled, “And you look quite handsome.” 

Fred beamed, and went over to greet Daphne’s mother. 

Sometime later, the three of them were drinking tea, Daphne sitting next to Fred with Mama in front of them, and Frederich said, “My aunt desires to see you, my dear. Your mother as well. I expect you shall receive an invitation for tea rather soon.” 

Mama nodded, “Yes, of course. There is a lot to discuss for your upcoming nuptials.” 

* 

"I hear your son is a father now.” 

Those are the first words out of the Queen’s mouth once Violet and her daughter were let into the tea room. 

Violet kept her eyes respectfully on the ground as she curtsied. 

“Yes, Majesty,” She said before straightening up. 

“Shame,” Queen Charlotte clicked her tongue, waving Violet and Daphne to the chairs in front of her. 

Daphne bristled slightly, but a quick look from Violet subdued her. 

“The bastard has come with you to London, I was told. What an odd choice!” 

“The Duke is quite fond of his son, and desires him close.” 

“The Duke must understand that choice would make it nearly impossible for him to find a wife,” Queen Charlotte glared at Violet. 

Violet hesitated for a moment before nodding, “I do believe that was rather the point.” 

“Hmph! Your son is a true _rake,_ Lady Violet.” 

“Yes, Majesty,” Violet said humbly. 

“Would you be able to continue him to place the boy in the country home?” 

“No, Majesty, I would not.” 

“And I’m sure you wouldn’t even if you could! You Bridgertons...” The Queen rolled her eyes, looking exasperated. 

Daphne stirred and said, “We are a closely knit family.” 

The Queen waved her hand in dismissal, “I suppose that if the Duke cannot marry, it’s your second son we should find a bride for. This Season’s Incomparable has yet to be decided...” 

“I do not know if Benedict is quite ready for marriage yet,” Violet said, alarmed. 

The Queen glared at her and waved her hand to one of her handmaids for a dog. 

“This Season shall be mind-numbly boring after the marriage, then.” 

* 

The marriage was monstrous. It was as if the Queen had taken all the excess energy she had that was usually alleviated by exciting courtships (it was turning into a rather dry Season in that regard) and poured it into the event. It was three days long, with a full opera in the gardens the first day and acrobatics and a woman who danced with fire the second day. The third was the day of the actual wedding, which had at least five hundred guests if not more. Daphne had been hoping to dress in her mother’s old wedding gown, but the Queen had insisted she be placed in a dress that was _entirely covered by diamonds._ It made it near impossible to do anything but walk in very short steps, so Daphne could not even dance at her own wedding. 

“But you do look radiant,” Her mother whispered to her as Daphne, exhausted, began taking the wedding gown off. The five maids the Queen had lend her were fussing over her, replacing the diamond dress with a pink one that was just as extravagant, with gold plates holding her breasts up. 

“I do not feel radiant,” Daphne sighed, allowing the maids to refresh her makeup before they bowed and left the room. There was going to be one more ball (with a performance by a lion tamer, apparently), and then Daphne and Fred would be seen into a carriage and driven to their honeymoon, which they had elected to take in their new lands. “I feel tired.” 

“I am sure, and just a few more hours and you will rest,” Mama said, looking rather nervous. “But first, well, there is something I wish to discuss with you. It is about-well-” 

“Mama, if this is about what Fred and I will do, then do not worry. I know.” 

Mama’s eyes widened, “How do you know? Oh, if one of your brothers told you...” 

“No,” Daphne said, telling herself it was not a lie. Simon had told Eloise, Eloise had told her. Daphne had learned it from her _sister_. “One of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting. But do not be upset, Mama, I am glad to know.” 

“Well, then I suppose...yes, well,” Mama cleared her throat. 

* 

“There she goes,” Anthony said, hugging Francesca as he watched the carriage baring his sister disappear. “The first Bridgerton to be married.” 

Francesca hugged him back, placing her head on his shoulders. The rest of their family was slightly ahead, standing with the Queen and her posy, so there was no one to hear when she whispered into his ear, “I think you and Simon count.” 

* 

Two weeks later, it was time for Gregory to make his way to Eton, escorted by his mother and Eloise (who was simply searching for a way to escape London and the men attempting to vie for her hand), which left Anthony as head of the household. 

"He will enjoy Eton. Gregory has always lacked boy companions his own age. His only true friend has been Hyacinth," Anthony said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. He was bouncing Sarah on his hip while the girl rested her head on his shoulder. The twins were nearly three months old now, able to clap and laugh and even turn around from their bellies to their backs (it was rather frightening, as the first time Eddie had done so he had been seated on the couch with Hyacinth and nearly fell down), and had slept _an entire night_ a few days earlier (or at least Eddie had, he was the calmer of the two). 

"I am sure he will thrive at Eton," Simon agreed, slumping down on the sofa and smiling at Hyacinth as she came to sit by him. She seemed uncharacteristically subdued. "Are you quite all right there, dove?" 

"No," Hyacinth moaned, hiding her face in her hand. "How shall I survive? Who shall I play with?" 

"You have your friends among the servants," The youngest of the servants were eleven or so. Unlike most noble families, the Bridgertons only required their younger servants to work six hours a day, which left quite a bit of frolicking time with the daughter of the house. "Besides, you have grown rather close to the princes' natural children." 

Hyacinth shook her head, "None of them are _Gregory_." 

"He will be back in the summer," Simon attempted to soothe her. 

“But that is far too long!” Hyacinth moaned, and collapsed dramatically on the cushions. 

She would make a wonderful debutante one day. She had the theatrics. 

* 

"Daphne is gone, and now Gregory is gone as well," Hyacinth said forlornly, rubbing her eyes as Benedict came to sit on the swing next to her. He was reminded of the nights where he and Eloise would sit there in the past Season, speaking of their desires for their future. When they had reunited after Eloise's time at Aubrey Hall, his sister had shown him how far she had come with her novel. She was not resting on her laurels: she was planning for her future. 

"We will see Daphne often," Benedict said gently. "And Gregory will be home in the summer. You will be reunited with him soon." 

Hyacinth shook her head, "But we're separating, are we to? Our family, that is. We're going in different directions." 

"Ah, Hyacinth," Benedict smiled and ruffled his baby sister's hair. "Before you were born, Anthony and I went to Eton as well. And Colin after us. We all returned home at the end of the day." 

"Daphne will not return, will she? And one day Eloise will marry, and Francesca! And me as well," Hyacinth looked at him with wide eyes. "And you didn't come home to Aubrey Hall with us. Will you at the end of _this_ Season?" 

Benedict hesitated, "No, I do not think so. But you have my word that I will visit Aubrey Hall. And will see you back in London." 

Hyacinth sighed and stood up, "I would prefer that we all remain in the same household. Why do things need to change, brother?" 

"That is the way of life, sister," Benedict hugged Hyacinth close. "But our family shall always remain loving and close. And Anthony and Simon shall remain in Aubrey Hall forever, you know." 

* 

"You have been oddly silent these past few days," Violet said gently, watching her daughter. 

They were sitting in the dining room of the inn they had stopped in. Tomorrow they should be able to make it back to London. Violet had been rather distracted ever since they left Eton without Gregory, nervous that it had been a mistake and she should rush back to retrieve him. 

Gregory himself had not seemed half as nervous as his mother, in fact he was rather excitable when introduced to the Eton masters and pupils. He'd held onto Violet tightly when it was time for farewells, but did not seem more nervous than any of his older brothers had been, and all three of them had adapted to Eton beautifully. 

She could put worries for Gregory to the side, and turn her attention to Eloise. There was something on her daughter's mind. 

“I have been thinking-” Eloise started, and then closed her mouth. 

Daphne reached out across the table and squeezed Eloise’s hand, “Whatever it is, dearest, I shall listen attentively.” 

Eloise took a deep breath and said, “You shall be upset, should I tell you this.” 

_Now_ Violet was rather concerned, “Love, speak to me. Even if it shall cause me distress, I desire to know.” 

Her daughter nodded and looked down at the table, “I do not desire to be married.” 

Violet felt her heart pound in her chest. “As I told you, dearest, if you wish to delay your coming out, you shall have my su-” 

“Mama, that is not what I am saying,” Eloise interrupted sharply, and Violet was reminded of her Edmund. Eloise had always been similar to her father-Eloise and Benedict both. They shared their father’s desire to be free of the shackles of ton expectation. 

Edmund had not been able to achieve this dream. Benedict had been making steps towards this freedom, receiving commissions for his art work and climbing his way slowly up the ladder of the London artiste scene. 

Her Benedict was a man, however. Eloise was young lady. 

“I do not wish to be wed,” Eloise said. “Not this Season, nor the next. Should you force a marriage onto me, I shall be miserable all my days.” 

“Eloise!” Violet gasped, appalled. “I would never force a marriage onto you. You could never be forced to marry a man you do not care for; you must know this.” 

“You expect that I shall one day find a man to love, but I shall not,” Eloise said, determined. 

Violet opened her mouth, and then closed it once more. 

“You may think so now,” She attempted. “But you may one day-” 

“Shall you say that to Anthony?” Eloise asked. “That he may one day meet a young lady he might wish to wed?” 

Violet flinched. 

“Eloise, are you...if you are similar to your brother, and desire young ladi-” 

“What? No!” Eloise groaned as though Violet was being unreasonably dense. “Mama...I do not wish to marry, nor do I desire what my brother has. I simply want to be left to my own desires.” 

“Do you not desire companionship and love?” 

“I have both,” Eloise said softly, smiling. “I have friends and siblings and now a niece and nephew.” 

Violet sighed and tightened her hold on Eloise’s hand, “I simply want you to be happy.” 

“I am happiest at Aubrey Hall, where I may write.” 

Now Violet thought she was beginning to understand. “You wish for time to completely your novel. That is what you desire.” 

Eloise nodded hesitantly, “And then perhaps I shall pen another one.” 

That dashed Violet’s last hope. 

“There are women writers. They cannot accumulate their own wealth, but should Anthony own the rights for my books he shall hand me the funds I have earned,” Eloise said, bright with anticipation. “I know I am in no way close to such an achievement, but I do believe I have the ability to become ready for such a thing in a few years’ time.” 

Violet swallowed. As much as she feared to admit it, Eloise was correct: she had a talent and should it go to waste it shall be a same. A loss to the world of literature. 

“There could be men, who would support such a desires as a husband,” She attempted, one last time. 

Eloise smiled knowingly, as though she understood her mother was prepared to yield. 

“But I do not want to find such a man,” She said gently. 

Violet nodded and said, “Then you will not have one.” 

She found herself thinking, that of all the changes motherhood had brought, one of the sweetest was the illuminating of the so-far unseen sides of her own world that her children had provided. 

Before them, she did not know that a woman’s sweetest desire could be ought but children of her own. Or that the love shared between two men could be as pure and true as the love a wife and husband share. 

* 

Simon tapped on the door gently. He could hear Siena moving around on the other side, and found himself wondering, once more, if coming here had been a wise course of action. He had no desire to come here-it had been Anthony’s idea. 

“Go see Siena,” He had said as he allowed Simon to pull his outer coat on. 

“For what purpose?” Simon has asked, brushing Anthony’s shoulders. He had been on his way to the last sitting of the House of Lords, and Simon had dismissed his valet to dress Anthony himself. He enjoyed doing so, finding an odd pleasure in playing the servant. 

“We are leaving London soon-” 

“Yes, I am aware,” Simon said, looking down as he felt something latching on to his leg. 

Or some _one_ , to be precise. Sarah had been hugging his leg and beaming up at him. Someone had dressed her in a delicate white dress, and with that smile, she looked the perfect cherub. 

Anthony had leaned down to raise Sarah into his arms. 

“You’re moving so fast now,” Anthony said lovingly, and rubbed his nose against Sarah’s, which had become one of her favorite activities as of late. As expected, Sarah burst into charming laughter. “How ever shall we keep up with you?” 

Sarah had grinned, and wiggled in an attempt to reach the floor again, so Anthony placed her down. 

Simon kept an eye on her, insuring she was not attempting to crawl into the unlit fire again (she had covered herself in soot from head to toe a few days previously, and then proceeded to crawl all over the parlour. The maids were displeased, to say the least, and so was Violet), and asked, “What shall I say to Miss Rosso? If you desire an evening with her-?” 

“I do _not_ ,” Anthony had snapped. 

“Then what shall I say to her?” Simon asked, sitting on the floor and smiling at Eddie, who was entirely focused on chewing a doll Daphne had sewn for him. Unlike his sister, at six months he was not yet crawling, though neither the doctor nor Violet seemed concerned, claiming infants grow at different rates. 

"She has not come to Bridgerton House once," Anthony said, grabbing his walking cane. "And we are about to leave. She will not see the twins for another six months unless she elects to come to Aubrey Hall, which I rather doubt." 

Simon frowned, "She made it quite clear that she had no interest to see the twins." 

"Yes, I know," Anthony said, walking towards the door. "I want to be sure." 

So here he was, waiting to see if Siena shall open the door to him. 

It took her some time, but she did. 

Siena looked rather ruffled, hair in a simple braid and body wrapped in a dress with no ornaments, clearly in the midst of preparing for the day. She looked startled to see Simon, but moved to the side to allow him entrance to the room. 

"Mr. Basset," Siena said, closing the door behind him. She walked over to a chair and sat down, lounging gracefully. 

"Miss Rosso," Simon replied, taking his top hat off and placing it on the nearby side table. "How do you do?" 

"Well," Siena said, suspicious. "What can I do for you this morning?" 

Simon sighed, "Anthony sent me to insure that you do not desire to see the twins before we depart London." 

Siena stiffened, sitting up, "I made it quite clear that I did not." 

Shrugging, Simon said helplessly, "I attempted to explain that to him." 

"I am sure you did," Siena snorted. She sighed and stood up. "Anthony is a kind man, but despite his...proclivities, he is a rather traditional sort, is he not?" 

"Hmm." 

"He is functioning under the belief that all women are rather like his mother, and all men are rather like his father," Siena said, picking up a brush and settling down in front of a mirror. "He is a good man, I know this. Would you inform him that I do not require his assistance?" 

"As you wish," Simon replied. 

Siena smiled, and released her long hair, "How are the children? Well?" 

"Very," Simon said. "They are thriving." 

"That is good," Siena sighed. "Goodbye, Mr. Basset." 

Simon bowed deeply, and left. 

* 

"Now, listen," Benedict was saying when Anthony walked into the room. "I only require one thing from you, and that is to remain still for a few minutes. Your brother did so, and now it is your turn." 

Anthony blinked, handing his top hat and cane to the footman. Of all the things he had expected to see when he returned home from the House of Lords, Benedict in his artist smock, leaning over Sarah crawling around the floor next to two large canvases was certainly not on the list. 

There were pencils and stains of paint littering the floor (Mother was going to be _rather_ upset with him), and Sarah's white dress was smeared with black coal. One of the canvases already had the outline of a sketch: the figure of an infant seated on the ground, gazing up with wonder at the artist. Even with the minimal lines, Anthony recognized Eddie. 

"Sarah," Benedict said severely, picking Sarah up and throwing her into the air. Sarah squealed in delight. "You must remain stationary." 

Once the girl was once more placed on the ground, she returned to crawling, causing her uncle to groan in despair. 

"Perhaps expecting an infant to sit silently for _any_ length of time is a bit presumptuous," Anthony said dryly. 

Upon hearing her father's voice, Sarah let out a delighted shriek and crawled over to him with wonderous speed. Anthony got on his knees and raised Sarah up into his arms, kissing her forehead gently. 

Benedict pouted, "Eddie sat for nearly ten minutes." 

"Eddie enjoys thinking, Sarah enjoys moving," Anthony replied, giving his brother nearly no attention at all. "Is that not right, my dearest?" 

He heaved Sarah up and blew raspberries into her stomach, causing renewed shrieks of delight. Benedict waited to see her begin demanding to be let down, but she seemed perfectly content in Anthony's arms. Realizing the golden moment that had been dropped into his hands, Benedict rushed to his easel and began to furiously sketch. 

* 

"Have you given any thought to where you intend to reside at the end of the Season?" Anthony asked, after Sarah had exhausted herself and fell into something close to sleep in Anthony's arms. "Shall you remain in London?" 

Benedict nodded, carefully adding some lines to his sketch of Eddie's arm, "For some time, at least, to learn more from Granvelle. I might return to Aubrey Hall after. I have commissions to complete, and that I can do at home just as well as in London." 

Anthony hummed, rocking Sarah, "We'll be glad to have you back, though I understand if you cannot. You have a profession to cultivate." 

"It feels good," Benedict sighed. "To have a profession, a purpose." 

"It does, does it not?" Anthony smiled. 

The door to the parlour opened, admitting Simon with Eddie in his arms, followed by Violet and Francesca. 

"Simon," Anthony stood up, careful not to rattle Sarah, and walked over to Simon. 

Simon smiled at him, looking beautiful to Anthony, with Eddie's little head resting on his shoulder, sucking softly on his favourite blanket. 

"How was the final day of the House?" 

Anthony shrugged, "Quite all right, the law passed." 

Anthony's greatest project during the past few months was the passing of a law to prohibit the work of children under the age of twelve for longer than eight hours in a day. Eventually, he hoped to have the Houses of Lord and Commons out law the labour of children completely, but that would take years and much more work. At that moment, though, he could not care less for the politics of the House. His concerns where much closer to home. 

"You went to see Siena, then?" He asked quietly enough so as not to be heard by the rest of the room's occupants. 

Simon nodded, "She does not desire to see the children." 

It was only at that moment, as Anthony nearly stumbled with relief, that he realized how frightened he had been that Siena might have changed her mind, might desire the return of his children. 

"Tony," Simon said softly, and reached out to caress Anthony's cheek. "They are ours, none shall take them away." 

“Of course not. We are a family.” 


End file.
